Splintered -Draco Malfoy

Chapter 7: His ring

Darcy twisted the lustrous silver ring on her finger, fiddling with it, as it instantly reminded her of Draco. His warm lips on her forehead. That kiss, though it was the bare minimum, brought her soul to life. And she felt this unfamiliar feeling deep in the bottom of her chest, nawing at her insides repetitively, ever since that night and the morning after it.
She missed him. His presence made her happy. Happier than she was now, sitting at home. Bored. Incredibly so. She padded down the stairs, into her kitchen, the late morning sun filtering through the blinds and making the deep olive green walls of the kitchen and black decorations seem a little more lively, the olive turning sage and the black turning deep brown. Nagini slid around her feet and she kneeled down to graze her hand along the snake's smooth scales, watching her muscles flicker as she moved down the corridor, to her fathers office. 'Darcy is awake.' She hissed to her owner, but Darcy still heard it. Like her father, she possessed the ability to talk to snakes. The fact that she grew up with one in the house probably helped, too.
Soon, she heard him get up and walk into the kitchen to greet his daughter, his loyal serpent following closely behind.
'Sleep well, my dear?' Voldemort murmured as he leaned down and pressed a quick peck to her forehead. 'Mhm.' She hummed to her father. 'Where's mum?' Darcy asked, taking a foot away and turning around so they were facing each other, instead of him looming behind her.
'She's... having a chat with that Pucey boy. Wants to become a death eater.' He responded tautly. 'We don't need him.' He added, pacing, but not in the nervous way... in a very thoughtful way. 'Yes... we already have Lucius and Tiberious's boys, who are... coming along exceedingly well for such young wizards, especially Draco. Severus is teaching the boy very... powerful magic.' He spoke in slow sentences. 'But Pucey... he's weak, and I fear he will be just like his father, my darling.' Her father said, to which Darcy hummed in agreement.

'No, we only really needed Draco as a path into Hogwarts...as for Theo... well... he's useful. His father is incredibly powerful.' She said wisely. She liked the chats she had with her father, discussing things like this. He always valued her opinion and never made her feel naive or foolish, simply because she was young.

Suddenly, a swooshing of air sounded outside the air, easily and quickly recognised as the sound of someone Apparating. Hoping it was her mother arriving home, she walked to the door, only to find 4 death eaters at her door, looming over her. She turned her head slightly backwards, there wasn't a death eater meeting today... so why we're they here?
The time it took for the realisation to dawn on her felt like minutes to the men who were in agonising pain, although it could hardly even be considered a second before she moved aside.
The one closest to her, and in the worst condition had blood all over his all black suit, the liquid appearing black as it inked through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the death eater's robes were in the arms of another, who had an injury on their leg, she noticed, not because there was blood, but because they were limping. She looked at the other two, presumably with wounds as well, but not ones that were severe enough for her to see through the robes.
She shut the door and immediately, they all ripped their masks off. All were men, as assumed, the majority with dark hair and an even darker look in their eyes. But she didn't care about them. All she cared about was the singular blonde, his grey eyes fixed on her as she assessed the situation. His face completely emotionless and solemn, despite the crimson cut on his perfect cheekbone, but his eyes revealed the extreme pain he was in.
She wrapped her small fingers around his large wrist and apparated upstairs, she knew she wasn't strong enough to carry him, and he was losing blood rapidly.

She attempted to lay him on the bed of the guest room, but he practically collapsed, unable to suppress the sharp breath through his teeth. Instantly forgetting their relationship, she began unbuttoning his shirt, the only thing on her mind was the urgency of checking and healing his wounds before he looses too much blood. His grey eyes were pinned on her fingers and her pace stuttered as she realised how awkward this could feel for him. 'Sorry... is it okay if I take this off?' She murmured, 'of course, if it's more comfortable for you, you can do it yours-'
'It's fine.' He hewed her off, his tone rough with pain. She continued unbuttoning his shirt. 'Do you have any injuries on your legs?' She asked as she finished unbuttoning his shirt, quickly pulling it off and applying hard pressure to a wound on his right chest, to which he grunted with pain. In a hurried fashion she scrambled through her nursing drawers, finding a small vial filled with wine red coloured fluid. She swished it in her hand and handed it to him. 'Drink.' She instructed while she held her wand to his wounds and muttered under her breath, the incantations to heal him. 'What is it?' He murmured, and she pushed down on another wound below and just right of his navel. He hissed out in pain. 'FUCKING hell!' He seethed, 'drink.' She said tautly, removing the makeshift shirt tourniquet from the first wound to inspect it. Her magic had restricted the blood flow of that area so she could examine the wound properly, meanwhile, the gentle glugging of air leaving the small mouthpiece of Draco's vial rippled quietly above her, as he poured it into his open mouth. Instantly, his breaths lightened as the pain shooting through his nerves dulled. She tilted her head to look at the wound, 'what happened?' She asked as she applied a special ointment to the wound. He didn't want to tell her, but considering she was Voldemort's daughter, he wasn't gonna lie.
'A wand duel with us and a couple auras while we were making an attack on Diagon Alley.' He said gruffly. 'You seemed to get the worst of it...' she mumbled as she nudged her wand against the open flesh and sealed the 2 inch deep cut, and he didn't even turn away. 'You might need a couple days bed rest...' she added, more to herself. 'I can't, Darcy, I have school... I have the cabinet... and quidditch.' He argued, making a point of using her name, a shiver dragging up her vertebrae to the back of her neck. 'This cut is deeper than the length of my thumb. You have a cut on your cheek which will likely bruise, and cuts all over your torso and,' she observed him more. 'You didn't tell me your finger was broken!' She exclaimed, lifting his hand closer, the index bended awkwardly, and was bruised and bloody. He still seemed unenthusiastic about staying here. 'I'm not gonna hold you against your will,' she reassured, 'but if you go back to school, you have to stay in the nursing bay. And then you have to explain to the nurse what happe-'
'I'll stay here.' He mumbled, his gunmetal eyes meeting hers, and she had to fight against every cell in her body to hold his gaze. 'How long?' Although a question, his tone was a plead. *Please no more than 3 days*, was what he was really asking. 'Not long, a couple days...' she tried to reassure, though that was a lie, she had no idea how long he'd stay. Darcy didn't have the herbs needed to make a Bone-Fix potion, meaning she could go to diagon alley and just buy a pre-made vial of it. But considering the attack, which was most likely already in the daily prophet, it was incredibly risky and potentially damaging to the dark forces and in particular, her fathers reputation. 'Draco, how many death eaters were there with you?' She asked as she continued carefully tending to the second of his two major cuts, the one beside his navel. 'Uhm... quite a few, I'm sure there's some still there.' He responded, his eyes flicking upward as if remembering. 'Like a rough guess.' She added. 'Eh, 10-11? All in different shops though.' He said.
Shit.
Well Diagon Alley was a no.
She hummed as she slowly closed up the deep cut beside his hip, working the calculations in her head.
Darcy always thought ahead, something from her father and mother. But most prominently her father.
This meant she would have to place an order for the herbs required to brew the potion.

She decided it was best not to lie. 'It might end up being more than a few days,' she mumbled quietly.

A/N
I love adding little authors notes and pretending like this story is famous or something.
I do really hope it can grow though.

For something that's a little more obvious and definitely less of a slow burn, check out my other novel that's in the making. I'm gonna try and publish a new part for Splintered every 1-2 weeks (probably more likely to be 2) on Mondays and a new part for Illicit Whispers (the one I mentioned above) every week on Sundays.
I'm sorry this part took so long! I hope more people can find my novels. 🩷